


Popular

by sunlitroses



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: But Will Be More Amusing If You Do, Crack Treated Seriously, Dancing, Don't Need to Know the Song, Feeling: Shame and Also that I Shouldn't Have to Suffer Alone, Feels, Gen, Inspired By Tumblr, Makeover, Musical: Wicked, Song: Popular, i have no idea what to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23437168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlitroses/pseuds/sunlitroses
Summary: Theta Sigma was finally letting him in. Now was the chance for Koschei to do what he'd always, always wanted to do with him.Make him popular.
Relationships: The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Doctor | Theta Sigma & The Master | Koschei (Doctor Who: Academy Era)
Kudos: 5





	Popular

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the thread at https://the-patrex.tumblr.com/post/613838816068894720/i-mean-yeah-i-could-stop-thinking-about-a-musical and my subsequent inability to get that song out of my head. It's still there. I'm beginning to sympathize with Koschei. Join me.
> 
> Anyway, this is all their fault :)

#

Koschei spun into the room through the door that Theta Sigma so kindly held open for him. Deferential, hm, yes, that was a nice attitude for him to have. Funny, after spending the beginning of the year trying to get the boy to give him due respect, all it had really taken was Koschei deigning to dance with him that got Theta Sigma over to his side. This would require some thought.

But not now. Now high off the combination of starting a new dance trend among the Academy students, Theta Sigma finally giving into his charms, and whatever had been in that punch bowl, Koschei danced around the room in perfect four-four time. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, it was so easy when your head was a metronome. He laughed aloud.

"What's so funny?"

Koschei spun again to find Theta Sigma seated on his deathly plain, Academy-issue bedclothes. Did the boy have no taste at all?

"Your very first party ever?" He declined to answer Theta Sigma's question.

"Do funerals count?" A peer over a shoulder as he two-stepped in a square showed a sarcastic twist to the other's lips, but no insincerity.

"Your very first party!" Rassilon, no wonder he was so awkward. Koschei dropped flat on his back on his own bed, giggling slightly as the room continued to spin. Hm, conversation, or Theta Sigma would disappear into some mechanical invention and light the room on fire again. "I know," he told himself aloud, "let's each tell the other something we're never told anyone." He propped himself up and grinned in the direction of the other bed. "I'll go first. I'm in a terribly fashionable clique called, hm, the Deca."

"You have a clique already?" Theta Sigma sounded almost impressed. Normally it took years to begin an alliance like that among student Time Lords.

"No, they don't know yet," Koschei waved his hand airily. "They'll find out in due time. Now you tell me a secret."

"Like what?" His expression seemed torn between amusement and wariness. Koschei snorted.

"Like... like why do you sleep with this weird metal stick beneath your pillow?" he pulled said weird metal stick from under his own stack of pillows where he had secreted it for further study. If Theta Sigma would just tell him what it was, that would make things so much easier.

"Give it back!" Faster than Koschei had anticipated, Theta Sigma had leapt off his own bed and was kneeling by his side. Startled, he stuck the stick under his back.

"Tell me!" Koschei demanded, as Theta Sigma obviously warred between wanting his stick back and the shame of physically accosting another student.

"It's a new experiment! It'll be good for so much. That's all." Disappointed, Koschei pulled it from under his back and smacked it into the other boy's waiting hand.

"That's not fair," he mumbled. "I told you a really good one."

"My father hates me."

Koschei went still. Peering from under his lashes at the boy still kneeling next to him on the bed, he let his respiratory bypass kick in to see if more was forthcoming.

"That's not the secret. The secret is he has a good reason. It's my fault." The boy's hands twisted over the metal stick worrying it around and around.

When it was clear that he'd stalled, Koschei prompted, "What? What is?" So close to something about this boy, some insight into how he could stand apart, some leverage to keep him close.

"The reason my sister is the way she is. You see, when they were planning for Nessa, my father began to worry that the new baby might be..." Theta Sigma hesitated over the wording.

"Stubborn? Rebellious? Overly concerned with everything but what's actually important?" Koschei suggested, then moved his knee in a gentle nudge in case he was too caustic. He needed to gauge how to temper that in order to achieve the desired effect. It was a work in progress.

"Contrary and, and ill-performing," the other boy conceded, shaking his head, but with a half grin on his face that soon melted away. "He was so worried that he made mother agree to some sequencing. Only it changed too much, too many connections, and she came so, so mentally strong, but physically." He trailed off on some abortive motion towards the inner walls.

"But that was the sequencer's fault, not yours," Koschei pushed himself upright, sitting hip to hip as he continued, "That may be your secret, Theta Sigma, but it doesn't make it true." He didn't know where to continue from there as the boy didn't look up from his hands. He wasn't going to get anymore from that topic. A splash of red from across the room made him look over. "Look - it's tomorrow. And Theta - is it all right if I call you Theta?"

"Well, it's a little abrupt," Theta Sigma looked over with wide eyes.

"And you can call me, hm," what would not be completely unpalatable, "Kosch. You see, Theta," he launched himself from the bed and flung his arms wide as he turned to face the bed, "now that we're friends, I've decided to make you my new project."

"You really don't have to do that," he stood up from the bed as well, moving nervously backwards. Rude. Well, he probably didn't understand what Koschei was offering.

"I know," he grinned and spun in a little circle again. "That's what makes me so nice. See, Theta whenever I see someone less fortunate and," Koschei sighed as he spread his arms again, "let's face it, who isn't less fortunate? Well, I just have to help out. It's my tender heart." Melodramatically he crossed his arms over his chest, thrilled at the little giggle he heard from across the room. "I know exactly what you need," he squinted at the other boy, "although I'll admit you're more of a project than I've taken on before. But don't worry," he continued as Theta Sigma started to puff up in offense, "I'm quite determined to succeed. I'm going to make you," he paused for emphasis, "popular."

“Popular,” Theta Sigma repeated flatly.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if the other students helped you instead of trying to avoid you?” Koshei tempted. “I’ll teach you the proper ploys to gain assistance. Bet it’d even work on those Council boys,” he muttered to himself, distracted. “Anyway, some conversation and then, my dear Theta, we have got to, just got to, talk about what you’re wearing. Oh, and your hair. Do you do that on purpose? Because if you’ve figured out how to defy gravity, then you really will have to share the secret. Hm, you’ll already be seen with the right people,” he gestured modestly to himself and bowed, “so a little effort so that you know the rules of Fligbet before you play it next time and the proper slang to go with it should be all we need there. Oh, there’s so much to do!” He clapped and gave another whirl. He did love a project.

“Gee, anything you don’t want to change?” Theta Sigma muttered.

“See, that’s what I mean, ‘gee’ is just so not even yesterday at this point,” Then Koschei registered the actual question. “Oh, my dear Theta,” he flopped on the bed, then stood up to pull Theta Sigma down next to him. “My dear Theta, don’t you know it’s all just decoration? Highly important, but nothing to take personally. If you didn’t have the rudiments, it wouldn’t be worth the bother. You just need a,” he paused, “a pal, a brother, an advisor, if you will. And trust me, Theta,” he grinned slowly, “there’s no advisor like me. Not when it comes to this. You’ll be fantastic!”

“If I’m ‘not so bad’ now, why bother? I don’t want to be popular, I just want to get things done and get out of here and do stuff.” Theta Sigma half turned to him on the bed.

“Wow. Much better word than ‘gee,’ take notes. Wow, I’m not even focusing on how wrong you are about wanting to be popular. Everyone wants to be popular. So, moving on. Don’t you think it might be easier to, hm,” he ticked points off on his fingers, “get things done, get out of here, and do stuff, if you didn’t spend all of your time in trouble that you could easily talk your way out of? Look, do you think Rassilon and the Council got where they are by being smart and knowing stuff. Please. They got people to listen to them and follow their advice, and then they got to do what they wanted.”

Theta Sigma looked unconvinced and disturbed by such a statement of _liese majeste_.

“It’s not about your aptitude, Theta Sigma,” Koschei’s focus narrowed to the other boy’s face and his voice dropped to an unusually serious note. “It’s about what people believe that you can do, what you can convince them to believe in. It’s not frivolous to be popular. It’s smart. Like me,” he laughed and bounced off the bed violently, setting the pillows to topple to one side.

He turned back, waiting for a reaction.

“I don’t know. And anyway,” Theta Sigma looked down at himself, “what’s wrong with what I’m wearing. It’s the uniform, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Koschei sighed, “which is why it’s so remarkable that you’re somehow managing to look as though you are not wearing the same uniform as the rest of us. Do you not know your own size?” He gestured in frustration at the trousers riding high enough to show a considerable amount of ankle and a tunic that could possible double as a dress slipping off both narrow shoulders. He squinted. Maybe it actually was a dress. And what was pinning up the sleeves… tiny vegetables? “Don’t even let’s discuss your shoes. We can visit the wardrobe mistress tomorrow and just,” he waved again, “let her have a look.”

He observed Theta Sigma staring at his own shoes for a moment.

“But we can take care of that hair now,” he drew the other boy’s attention away. It was a service, really. No one should have to contemplate such hideous shoes for too long. He would really have to give Theta Sigma at least a patina of appearing to have a sense of style and taste. “Haven’t you ever heard of gel?”

“It’s those stupid hats,” said with a motion towards the hat stand near the door, upon which rested Koschei’s own meticulously brushed student hat and what appeared to be a flattened sandwich, but was in actuality Theta Sigma’s supposedly identical hat. Idly he wondered what had happened to it. A stampede? Low flying hovercar? A matter for another day. The hair was enough of a start.

“Yes, the hats are a trial,” Koshei admitted. “That’s why one has to properly prepare for them. Come here,” he pointed repeatedly until Theta Sigma took a reluctant seat at Koschei’s desk. “Now, wet it down a little, see if I can comb it out without losing my brush, oh,” he interrupted himself, “don’t even try to glare right now. You look like a malformed topiary. There’s no way you can pull it off, so save yourself the trouble. All right, now a little gel, and there!” Triumphantly, Koshei spun the chair around so that Theta Sigma could see himself in the little vanity mirror set to the side of the desk. “One debonair, yet hat-proof style. Why look at you,” Koschei found himself sliding from triumph to amazement. “You’re beautiful.”

“I,” Theta stumbled to a stop, reaching a hand up to his own cheek as though checking it was himself in the mirror. Hair pulled away from the face, with strands left to draw the gaze along the line of the jaw, revealed a broad forehead, strong arches reflecting down his face in the curve of his eyebrows, check bones, lips, all arrested by finally having a good look at those bright eyes. Lovely, Koschei thought, and then double-checked to make sure he hadn’t said it aloud.

“I,” Theta stuttered again. “I have to go.”

Before Koschei could collect himself, he was alone in the room. “You're welcome. Where are you going?” he asked the emptiness. “It’s after curfew.” Huffing a laugh, he recapped the gel and sprawled out over the bed again, sending the last of the long-suffering pillows to the floor. “’I don’t want to be popular.’ Sure. You might protest your disinterest, but I know, oh I know,” he waved a hand absently. “You’re going to grin and bear it, your new-found popularity. Oh, I love a project.” He burrowed himself into the bed covering, for once almost at peace and reluctant to move. “I will make you so popular. Just, not quite as popular as me,” he laughed again. One-two-three-four. “Never me.”


End file.
